Guns Up! (24 page)

“Did you hear that?” Striker said. “Her stomach just made an awful sound, like a drain opening. She’s really suffering!”

Someone stepped forward with an M16, pointed it at her chest, and fired a single shot. The body jumped from impact. No one spoke. We stared. Her nostrils moved, sucking in to get oxygen. “Good God.”

The word struck something in me. I wondered if she believed in God.

He fired a second shot. Again the body jumped from impact. We waited. Her nostrils flared again. Then her mouth came open.

“She’s still alive!” Doc shouted. He removed his glasses and wiped sweat from his face. “Somebody shoot her with a .45.”

I wondered if she’d ever heard the name of the Lord, even as my hand reached down to my side.

Chan looked concerned. I wasn’t sure why. He handed me a C-ration can full of smoking hot chocolate. “How you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine. How ’bout you?”

“No complaints anyone cares about.”

I looked around the perimeter. It didn’t look right. The rise of the small rocky hill hid the other side of the perimeter from view. I couldn’t remember coming here. “I must be turning into a real space-cadet!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, really. I don’t even remember setting up in this place.”

“You remember the mercy killing?”

“What mercy killing?” I asked. Chan looked puzzled. I thought for a minute without speaking. “Oh, yeah. The woman in the bunker.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Other than being in the Corps, I’m just fine.” The dying yellow face of the woman in front of the
bunker flashed vividly through my mind. “No. I’m not all that good right now. How do you talk to God when you just murdered someone?”

Chan looked down for a moment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his little black Gideon. He held it and closed his eyes for a silent prayer, then started thumbing through it. Suddenly he stopped and laid his Bible on his lap, then looked me in the eyes. “Johnnie, God has used war to judge the nations from the very beginning. He will use war to judge the world even in the last days. David wasn’t condemned for killing Goliath and then cutting off his head. He was used by God to fight evil as a witness to Israel and the world.”

“Chan, I killed that girl. For all I know she might have lived long enough to have accepted Christ before she died.” I’d finally said it. That thought hadn’t left my mind since I’d pulled the trigger.

“Doesn’t hold up, Johnnie. I mean you can feel that way if you choose, but it’s just not true. It’s not Biblical. He’s a just God. He doesn’t let anyone die without the opportunity to accept Christ. And I don’t mean just through missionaries. She chose either to accept, reject, or ignore the truth during her life. The Holy Spirit was a witness to her. The world around her was witness of good and evil. And nature is obvious evidence of God’s existence. She had a choice just like everyone on this planet. If she wanted to know God, he would never have allowed her to die without finding him.”

“It all sounds real good, Chan, but I just can’t buy it all that easy. I mean, what about little babies that die? That crap sure isn’t true for them.”

“God tells us in the Book of David that babies would be with him. They’re under the age of accountability. When David’s baby boy died, we’re told that David would be with his baby in heaven.”

“What about crazy people? You know, mental retards
and stuff like that? They can’t accept Christ, they get screwed right from the start.”

“Don’t be ignorant. There’s a purpose to everything and everyone. Besides, we’re told that they are taken care of too, in the Book of Job.”

I was ticked off. I didn’t say anything else for a while, and he didn’t either. A couple of minutes later I realized I didn’t feel so sick inside anymore. After a couple more minutes I couldn’t help seeing that he was right again. I hated always losing arguments to this little turd, even if it was for my own good. I decided to talk.

“You know our discussions can become a real pain sometimes.”

He gave me his “I told you so” closed mouth and Snoopy grin before he answered, “Well, I told your mother—”

“Oh, God! Not again!”

“—that I would take care—”

“Why in the world did I ever let my folks come to Parris Island graduation?”

Seven months in the bush brought on many changes. A lot of friends back in the world stopped writing, including a brother and sister. Most never wrote to begin with. I would never have imagined that a simple letter could be so important, except maybe for old people. I remember reading about Vietnam in the paper. It had never seemed like it was really happening. But now, for me, Vietnam was no longer some bizarre fantasy war on Walter Cronkite. The jungle, with all its death and fatigue, was the only thing that was real. Flushing toilets, cars, and knives and forks didn’t exist. Civilization was the fantasy.

I felt ready for a cage. I had to have R&R soon. If not, certain parts of my anatomy might never operate properly again. Female water buffaloes were looking better all the time. No one bothered explaining why Chan and I had gone so long without an R&R. Men who were boot to us had already gone and come back. We guessed they were waiting for more gunners to show up before they trusted the gun to a rifleman. We did a lot of guessing. Like we tried to guess why we were still PFCs after so many months in combat. I had more than one friend in the Army. Three to be exact. All three were sergeants after six months, and they were still stateside.

“There’s a freeze on all promotions in the Fifth Marines,” Lieutenant Campbell said. He pulled the bolt out of his M16 and peered through the barrel.

“What the crap does that mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Ask your congressman.”

“I know what that means,” Chan said. “They want to keep us at eleven cents an hour.”

“Your R&R came through,” the lieutenant said matter-of-factly.

“Where?” I asked, trying not to scream.

“I’m not sure. Go ask Sudsy.” We turned to find Sudsy.

“Wait.” Gunny looked left and shot a jawful of tobacco juice at a long column of giant red ants marching by five feet to the left of the CP. I always envied the four of them—Gunny, Lieutenant Campbell, Sudsy, and Doc—sitting in the command post in the center of the perimeter, able to sleep all night if they wanted to.

“Nice shot, Gunny,” I said.

He leaned back on one elbow and crossed his calloused bare feet. “I got a can of meatballs ‘n’ beans. You got any dry writing paper?”

“I think so. Let me go check supplies,” I said.

“I’ll locate Sudsy,” Chan said. “Where is Sudsy, Lieutenant?”

“I think he went on the water detail.”

Chan walked away.

“How ’bout throwing in a pack of coffee, Gunny?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure. You wouldn’t have any new socks stuffed away somewhere, would ya?”

“We already traded them,” I said.

“For what?”

“A toothbrush, peaches, and pound cake.”

“Ah! Couldn’t top that anyway.”

“How ’bout a book, Gunny?”

“How did you get a book?”

“Traded a pack of Salems to a black gunner in Third Platoon back at An Hoa.”

“What is it?”

“A who-done-it.”

“How much?”

“I’ll loan it to you for a pack of hot chocolate.”

“It’s a deal.”

“I found him!” Chan jogged up to me with a huge silly grin pasted all over his Chinese face.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you found a woman instead of Sudsy. That grin’s immoral.”

“Australia! And would you try to think of something besides women and boom-booming all the time!”

“Round-eyed women! When?”

“One week, but try to control yourself.”

“I won’t even know how to act around people.”

“Australia. I was there in ‘44.” Gunny leaned back farther, as if the memory soothed an old wound. “The women love Marines in Australia.” He straightened up, realizing he’d grabbed the full attention of all of us and looking a little embarrassed. “Leastwise they did in ‘44.” He cleared his throat then spit another shot at the ant column.

“I’ll bring that paper back over in a minute, Gunny,” I said.

“Don’t forget the book.”

I gave him a thumbs up as Chan and I headed for our position on the perimeter.

“The last girl I saw looked like a reject from Dachau. Remember? That girl on Truoi Bridge and the kid who sold that horrible candy,” I said as Chan booted a stone in soccer fashion.

“Oh yes, he tried to market his sister to you.”

“Right. Boom-boom five dollar.”

“Seems like years ago, doesn’t it?”

“God, it really does. I feel like I’ve been here most of my life.”

“I know what you mean,” Chan said as we reached the gun. “I tried to explain to my girl just how long one single day is over here. It’s futile. No one can understand.”

“That’s weird,” I said. “I tried to tell Polly—”

“Which one is that?”

“The one in Missouri. I tried to explain how old I’m getting or just how the time is different. It sounds like bull to them. Remember the last time we got mail call?”

“Just barely,” Chan said. “My mother informed me of the Tet Offensive. As if I were unaware of it,” Chan said sarcastically.

“I got that letter from Polly. She’s been going to school in Missouri. Well, she went home on a break and met three friends of mine and hers, and the jerks thought I was away at college.”

“Isn’t everybody?” Chan smirked.

“When she told ’em where I was, one of these jerks said I was probably having a great time because they had two uncles who had gone back to Vietnam twice because the pay was so good.”

“Navy and Air Force, right?” Chan asked.

“Right on the nose.”

“Let’s just think about R&R.”

“Saddle up!” Swift Eagle’s voice carried across the perimeter. Just hearing those two words made me tired, but this time even they couldn’t erase my thought of R&R. My spirits were up too high. I couldn’t help thinking what an odd pair Chan and I were. While he was majoring in medicine and minoring in ministry in college, I was majoring in football and minoring in drinking and women in high school. Somehow, for God’s own obscure reasons, we’d become closer than blood brothers. Now we’d really get to party together.

The hump started again. I nestled the gun on my right shoulder. The thick callus that had developed from the side of my neck to my shoulder bone from the constant weight and rubbing of the gun seemed to be getting thicker. I’ll probably be permanently lopsided when this war is over, I thought. Humpback of the Fifth Marines.

Hours passed. Our direction did not change. A straight shot toward the pale gray mountains along the
Laotian border. As we inched closer the mountains grew greener and greener, until no other color existed. We crossed a small stream. My feet were wet again. The jungle rot on my feet sent streams of pain up my leg until I didn’t think I could go any farther. But I did.

More hours passed. We finally reached the ominous mountains and started up a small trail that looked too well used. Dense green, unfriendly foliage bordered each side of the steep trail. Striker started grumbling about staying on the trail. I didn’t like him behind me. He grumbled about everything. This time he was right, though I felt like belting him for mumbling out loud when we couldn’t see a foot to either side of us. Staying on a trail like this was a great way to get ambushed. We all knew it.

The trail got steeper and steeper until grabbing branches to pull myself forward was the only way to negotiate the incline. We followed the path over the mountain, then down the other side, where it ran into a mountain stream. On the left a small brown hill stuck out like a short bald brother of the steep, green, tree-covered mountains around it. It overlooked the open area between the two large mountains where the path crossed the stream.

We wasted no time getting up that little hill. The gunny placed Chan and me where the field of fire was clear. I set the gun down on a slightly pitched slope. The gunny spat a stream of tobacco out the side of his mouth and looked me straight in the eye. “I’m telling everybody to hold their fire till you open up. Make sure you get as many as you can in the open before firing.”

“No sweat,” I said. Chan gave the gunny a thumbs up.

The gunny returned the sign and rushed off to check another position.

“Think we’re in Laos?” I asked.

“We’ve been in Laos for the last hour,” Chan said.

“How do you know? I didn’t see any road signs,” I said sarcastically.

“Quite elementary. Differences in vegetation and so on.” Having finished his usual line of bull, Chan pretended to be busy checking his rifle.

“How do you know where we are?” I asked again.

“I asked Swift Eagle.”

“Did you really?”

“Yes. He said this is where Delta Company ran into it two weeks ago.”

“You mean hand-to-hand?”

“That’s what the chief said. He said Delta’s gunny sergeant was up for the Medal of Honor.”

“Oh yeah?”

“After he ran out of ammo he killed six NVA with his K-bar.”

“I wish you hadn’t said anything about that hand-to-hand crap.” I pulled out my .45. The blue-black metal was rust brown. I pushed the clip release button. Nothing happened.

Chan started laughing. “You’d be better off with a bayonet,” he chuckled.

“This is ridiculous! I oiled this miserable piece of junk a few days ago.”

Sudsy ran at us, crouching along the slope of the hill. He looked naked without his radio strapped to his back. He dropped to one knee beside us.

“Lieutenant says dig in.” He paused, gasping for air. “He wants you to open up first when they cross the stream.” He inhaled again and raced off for the next position.

Chan rolled his eyes back and looked toward heaven.

“Did he say dig in?”

“Yep, he sure did,” I answered.

“I find that depressing.”

“Don’t worry about it. We can’t dig in. We threw our E-tools away. Remember?”

“Was that us?”

“Something about them being too heavy. We never stay in one place long enough to dig in anyway.”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “ ‘Salts don’t carry unneeded weight.’ It’s all coming back to me now. Must have been your idea.”